


Endearments

by lovedontroam



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Book of Nile, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flagrant Misuse of Google Translate, Getting Together, Jealous Booker, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedontroam/pseuds/lovedontroam
Summary: “We can find another way, if you’d like.” Booker tugs a cigarette out of the pack in his breast pocket. ”Tie him up in a basement, perhaps.”She smiles. “What? Think I’ll have trouble charming proprietary information out of a French billionaire?”He chuckles, cigarette halfway to his mouth. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble at all, chérie.”Nile goes on a honeypot mission. Booker is not a fan.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 21
Kudos: 189





	Endearments

**Author's Note:**

> So what was supposed to be a quick 1,000 word drabble turned into a nearly 8,000 word super-indulgent monstrosity. I don't think this is how M'dame Randell wanted me to use my semester of high school french.
> 
> Light TW for aggressive behavior, check end notes for details.

“Are you enjoying yourself, _mon petit oiseau_?”

He had meet the young woman not an hour earlier and he was already captivated by her. He cannot remember the name she murmured during their introductions (River, maybe? Or Brook? Something aquatic), but it doesn’t matter to him. What matters is the way her body moves sensually under his hands as they turn about the dance floor. Her long dress hugs tight to every curve, curves that he is experiencing up-close as he clutches his newest conquest to his chest. She smiles up at him, pressing closer.

“Much more, now that I’m with you.”

Anatole Borde leads his mystery girl in a flawless spin, his hands drifting as he reels her back in. His thumb toys with the chocolate skin at the small of her back, and he entertains the idea of letting his hands slide even lower. He cannot wait to have this woman.“Perhaps, _ma sirène_ , it is time we made our exit?”

“But the night is still so young! Just a couple more songs, please? Besides,” She looks up at him, her cheeks flushed, “it’s so rare that I have such a handsome partner.”

He is tempted to indulge her. Twirling in low ballroom light can put even the most prudish of women in the right mood, and he enjoys the sight of her in her backless dress. The emerald fabric flows over her skin like water. She’s easily the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, which is why he approached her. He’s preening under the envious stares the other guests are shooting his way. He’s felt eyes on them all night.

Anatole’s grip tightens.

“You cannot keep me waiting all evening, _mon trésor_. Come, there will be other dances. Let us go somewhere a bit more private.”

His hold shifts to her wrist as he leads her off the dance floor. Other dancers scurry out of their way while he shoulders through the crowd. The only thing he can concentrate on is getting this lovely woman into his hotel room and out of that dress. 

He doesn’t see the waiter until it is too late. 

He slams into the man full speed, knocking the tray of champagne flutes out of his hands. The silver tray clatters to the floor, glasses shatter, and both Anatole and the waiter are drenched.

“ _Merde!_ ”

The now-soggy waiter recovers first. “ _Je suis desole, monsieur! Laissez-moi vous aider, s’il vous plait_.” 

“ _Espèce d'homme stupid!_ ”

Anatole tries to brush the man off and maintain some amount of dignity, but the waiter grabs hold of his arm. 

“ _Laissez-moi vous emmener à l'arrière, je peux vous apporter une serviette_.” 

The woman grabs onto Anatole’s arm, “Are you okay, baby?” 

He takes a calming breath, slapping on his most dazzling smile. “Of course _ma chouchoute_. It is nothing, just an idiot server not watching where he is going.” He aims these last words at the bumbling waiter, who’s ears are red as he kneels down to retrieve his tray.

“I’m sure it wasn’t--” begins his date, but Anatole cuts her off.

“It doesn’t matter what he meant to do. The fact remains that I am soaking wet.”

Something dark flickers over her face, but before he can question it, she fixes her expression into a sly smile. She gets even closer, if possible, breasts brushing over the sleeve of his jacket. “Well then, let’s get you cleaned up, and then I can peel you out of all those wet clothes.” 

Anatole’s brain short-circuits. He distantly hears the waiter choke. 

His date, still smirking, turns to the waiter. “Do you have a couple of towels somewhere that we can borrow?”

“ _Oui, m’dame_. Follow me.” The waiter leads the two of them out of the ballroom and into a service corridor, through a door marked ‘employees only’, and into a small laundry room. “ _Un instant s’il vous plaît_.”

Anatole sighs. “I am sorry, _ma chérie_ , for the delay.” He loops his arms around her waist, caging her against his chest, “I promise it will be worth it.”

“Oh, yeah?” She smirks, leaning in playfully, “What exactly do you have planned for me?”

“Oh, _ma petit_ , once I really get my hands on you, I’m going to—”  
Anatole never gets to tell her what he is going to do. He crumples to the ground, the waiter brandishing a clothing iron standing over him. The last thing he sees before his vision fades is his date looking up at his assailant, a single brow raised.

“What the fuck, Book?”

* * *

Nile hates honeypot missions.

No matter how much she showers afterward, she can still feel phantom hands on her for days. Plus, it’s almost impossible for her to sustain a civilian persona. Once, early on in her immortal years, a mark snuck up behind her and playfully put his hands over her eyes. She broke his wrist in three places. Copley was displeased. Andy and Joe are still laughing about it. So, yeah. She hates honeypot missions. 

So when Copley III sends a file about a fact-finding mission that involves seducing the heir-apparent to one of France’s largest pharmaceutical companies, Nile immediately calls not-it.

The six of them have been holed up in a safe house in Athens for the last couple of weeks after a successful op in Costa Rica. Nicky hums softly along to the radio in the kitchen while slicing up fresh tomatoes for dinner (It’s one of Nile’s playlists, all late-90’s-early-00’s-R&B, and she’ll never get over the sight of Nicolo de Genova, centuries-old Italian crusader, bobbing his head and shaking his hips along to TLC). Quynh debones fish with deadly precision next to him, while Andy sneaks olives from the bowl at her elbow.

Nile and Joe crowd around the kitchen table where Booker sits, their game of cards discarded. 

“I did the last one! Make Nicky do this one, he’s actually good at spy stuff!”

Nicky winks at her over his shoulder. 

Booker shrugs. “According to Copley’s contact, M. Anatole Borde is as heterosexual as they come.”

“And you’re his type!” Joe adds gleefully, snagging the tablet from Book and turning it around to show her several photos of Anatole Borde at different events, a different young black woman on his arm every time.

“Great. White boy’s got a fetish.” Nile sighs, rubbing her temples. “What are we looking for?”

“There are rumors that his father’s company is illegally testing dangerous new cancer treatments in Mozambique. There’s a totally legitimate clinic under the company umbrella in Beira, but people are disappearing.” Booker slides another holo-tablet across the table, a photo of an elderly man open. “M. Emile Borde is slowly relinquishing control of Borde Pharmaceutique to his son. The old man is notoriously tight-lipped about his business dealings and research, but the same cannot be said for Anatole.”

Booker fans some of the remaining holo-documents over the table. From gossip columns to a profile in Le Monde, Anatole had developed quite the reputation in the media. Nile lingers of a photo of the man at a night club covered head-to-toe in sweat, glitter, and little else. He has his arm around a equally drunk young woman and holds a mostly empty bottle in the other hand. His grip on the woman’s shoulder is too tight. Nile grimaces.

“Seems like a real charmer. Is he going to talk?”

“We’ll have to find out.” Andy holds her hand out for the tablet, which Joe gives her easily. She flicks through some of the files. “You up for this, kid?”

Nile deliberates. It’s a genuine question. If she said no, they would find another approach, no questions asked. But this was faster, and she could handle flirting with some dumb playboy for a few hours. “Alright, what the hell. Let’s do it. But if he describes me as ‘chocolate’ even once I’m putting my heel through his eye socket.”

* * *

They discuss the plan over dinner. Copley III had managed to secure tickets to a gala being thrown in Paris to honor Borde Pharmaceutique’s philanthropic pursuits in Mozambique. Nile, Joe, and Nicky would attend as guests, Booker would provide backup as a waiter, and Andy and Quynh would run surveillance. “River Smith” would laugh, flirt, and squeeze whatever information she could out of the young billionaire, and then swipe the company documents he will be keeping in his hotel room. Then, after the gala and a whirlwind romance, she would disappear.

“Just like Cinderella, yes?” Joe’s eyes twinkle.

Nile flips him off, mopping up sauce with her bread crust. “This is all assuming that he’s even remotely interested in me.”

“That won’t be a problem,” says Quynh, lips curling into a smile, “Frenchmen tend to think with their second head.”

Booker sprays a mouthful of water across the table. Laughter and shouts fill the little kitchen while Quynh sits back and watches the chaos she’s created. Around the time Joe begins loudly recounting the last time he and Nicky had some ‘alone time’ in France, Nile slips out the door to the balcony. 

She breathes in the evening air and looks out over the city. She loves Athens. The mix of ancient ruins and new buildings reminds her of all of them.

(She’d made Booker take her up to the Acropolis yesterday because the older four wouldn’t stop loudly complaining about how the city had gone to shit in the last couple of millennia. 

“So Andy said she and Quynh were here when this temple was being built.”

“Andy and Quynh were gods when this temple was being built.”)

She has to start packing, and maybe brush up on her French now that she’s thinking of it. Nile had cornered Booker and basically begged him to help her with the language a few decades back, when the whole debacle with Quynh was over and he was attempting to make amends. He had been a very patient teacher, only occasionally grumbling about American monoglots and their lack of appreciation for French romanticism. She appreciated his restraint.

She hears the glass door slide open behind her and the man himself steps up to the railing at her side. They spend a couple of moments in companionable silence, taking in the city.

“We can find another way, if you’d like.” He tugs a cigarette out of the pack in his breast pocket. ”Tie the _connard_ up in a basement, perhaps.”

She smiles. “What? Think I’ll have trouble charming proprietary information out of a French billionaire?”

Booker chuckles, cigarette halfway to his mouth. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble at all, _chérie_.”

Nile has doubts, but she’ll keep them to herself for now. “At least I’ll get to play dress up. It’s been a while since I went on a job without tac gear.”

He looks her up and down out of the corner of his eye. “We’ll have to go shopping. Joe and Nicky, too.” 

“Think we can find something here?”

Booker snorts. “We’re going to Paris in a few days and you want to buy a gown in Athens? I thought you had better taste by now.”

“Nicky will have something to say about Milan.”

“Joe will have something to say about Milan. Nicky would wear sweats to the Met Gala if he could. Honestly, Quynh is the one whose opinions we have to worry about. You’re lucky it’s just you and the boys on the guest list, or we’d have to fly all the way to Ho Chi Minh to find her something.”

“What about you, _monsieur Dior?_ ”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think they’ll let the wait staff wear designer. Even in Paris they aren’t snooty enough for that.”

“I am begging you to spill champagne on some of these fools.”

“I would never,” he winks.

Nile bumps his shoulder with hers, letting their arms rest against each other. If she looked up, their lips would only be inches apart.

It’s been nearly a century since Quynh had returned and Booker’s exile was lifted. He spent a few years afterward in what he called a ‘self-improvement sabbatical’ and Andy called “ The ‘Booker Gets His Shit Together’ World-Tour”. He came back to them a more unburdened man. He drank less. He joked more. His smiles were bright and un-ironic. 

They grew closer, the two young immortals. They started watching each other’s sixes, on and off missions. He was with her on the day of her mother’s funeral, and held her as she cried. After that, the two of them had been practically inseparable, and Nile, as Dizzy would have said, “caught feelings”.

This dance has lasted for decades; the teasing, the flirting, the knowing looks and lingering touches. Sometimes he looks at her and it’s like his jaw is begging for the press of her lips. Her feelings must be so obvious to him. But, she’s not going to push. If there’s one thing they have, it’s time. She can be patient. She can wait until he’s ready.

He allows their shoulders to touch for a moment more, then he sighs, puts out his cigarette, and clears his throat. “It’s getting late. We have a long few days ahead of us, we should rest.”

Nile checks her watch. It’s barely 9:00.

…Booker’s definitely not ready. 

She smiles and gives him the out he’s looking for. “Okay, Book. I’m going to stay out here a little longer.” She brushes her fingers lightly down his sleeve. “Goodnight.”

He catches her fingers and lifts them to his lips, dusting a light kiss across her knuckles. “ _Bonne nuit, chérie_.”

The door slides shut behind him. Nile flexes her hand, the ghost of Booker’s lips still tingling there. He may not be ready to talk about this—thing between them yet, but Nile may just internally combust if they don’t at least acknowledge it soon. She turns and lets the Grecian air cool her cheeks and calm her racing pulse.

* * *

Their trip to Paris is more rushed than any of them would have liked. Usually they have much more time before an op, but their window of opportunity is closing, and fast. The hours blur by until it’s the night of the gala. Nile is wrapped in a terrycloth robe, sitting in front of a gilded vanity that must have been in their Paris safe house for a couple of centuries. 

Usually she finds a hairdresser; someone with clever brown hands who smells like coconut oil and shea butter, but she’s stuck doing her own hair for tonight. Luckily she just had box braids done, so all she has to do is twist them up off of the back of her neck and into something elegant. Unluckily, she only has two hands.

“Do you need some help?” 

She can see Booker’s reflection as he leans against the door frame behind her, hands slipped into the pockets of his waiter’s uniform and a smile playing around his lips. 

She turns in her seat and raises an eyebrow, “You know your way around a bobby-pin?”

“I have been reliably told I serve best as a hair-pin holder.”

Nile laughs and waves him into the room. “Okay Book, let’s put you to work.” 

A few minutes later, she’s managed to sweep her hair up into a twisted side braid that coils into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. Booker has been dutifully adding pins where she directs, his hands gentle but sure. 

He clears his throat, gesturing to the stack of pins left on the dresser without looking at Nile. “Before—well, all of this, I used to help my Eugenia with her hair in the mornings.” 

“She was a lucky lady. Not everyone has a live-in stylist.”

He chuckles, double checking that every strand is secure. “Hardly. I was lucky I had a patient wife. My first few attempts were disastrous.” He steps back, admiring their handwork, “It was a good thing that she adored hats.”

That may have been the most information Booker had ever given her about his wife; needed help with her hair and liked hats. “Did all men help their wives with their hair in the morning?”

His smile softens and his eyes go far away for a moment. “No, but most helped with dressing. Women used to wear quite a few more layers than you do now, c _hérie_. That’s not even including corsets.”

Nile gets a sudden flash of Booker running fingers and lips down her spine, tightening corset strings as he goes. She gulps, then shakes herself. Now is definitely not the time to follow that particular fantasy down the rabbit hole.

She turns to the dress laid across the bed. “Well, I think helping with a zipper is a demotion from corset-tightening, but…”

“Of course. I’d be happy too.”

“Gimme a minute.”

He turns his back to her while she drops her robe and wrestles the dress mostly on. It’s off the shoulder and backless, leaving her more exposed than she usually likes. She’s going to have a hell of a time hiding the handgun she’s taking with her. 

“Okay, I’m decent.”

Booker’s mouth fall open when he turns around. She smirks.

“Fancy enough?”

“ _Oui, m’dame_.” Booker gestures for her to turn and fusses with the side zipper, fiddling with the little clasps made to hide the seam. “Green is your color.”

She’s glad he can’t see her face because she is biting her lip hard enough to bleed right now. He finishes the final hook and smooths his hand over her side, making sure everything lays right.

“There. _Très magnifique_.” 

As he straightens up, she turns. They’re suddenly face-to-face, only a few inches of air between them. Not for the first time, Nile appreciates just how broad his shoulders are. He seems to be momentarily struck speechless. She allows a small smile to curl over he lips. Something in his eyes changes, and he leans in closer. 

“Nile—” 

“Book—”

“Joe!” says the man himself, standing in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s donned his tuxedo for the nights event, and dangles a set of car keys from one hand. “Now that we’re all reacquainted, let’s get moving. Booker, Andy wants you out the door in five.” 

Booker is beet-red. He stares up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. Nile glares daggers across the room, but Joe just winks and disappears down the hallway.

Nile sighs. The moment is lost, and Booker’s looking for an exit. She reaches up and adjusts his collar, then brushes a stray hair back out of his eyes. “See you on the dance floor?”

“I’ll be the one pouring champagne on unsuspecting millionaires.” 

She laughs and pushes his shoulder playfully. “Can’t let our secret spy mission at a moonlit gala in Paris get boring, can we?”

He gives her a wry smile and turns to leave. Nile makes a decision.

“Hey, Booker? When this is all over, you and I should talk.”

He freezes, shoulders hunching as if she had struck him. “Nile, I—” 

“—We keep doing this, this—” she struggles to find the words she wants, “—back and forth. I just want to know what you want.”

“Nile—”

She presses on, momentum building. “You don’t have answer now, but we need to at least acknowledge that there’s something, right?” She reaches out to touch his arm. “Please.”

The moment stretches. Finally, Booker nods once. “ _Oui_. Later. We’ll—talk.”

Nile lets out all the air in her lungs. At least that’s something. She steps back, giving him some space. “Thank you.”

He flashes a small smile. “Of course, _chérie_.”

He follows Joe down the hallway, leaving Nile alone.

She wants to smack herself. What did she expect he way going to do; sweep her into his arms like this was a paperback with Fabio on the cover?

She retrieves her handgun from the bedside table and checks it before sliding into a calf holster. No time for distractions or second guessing herself, this is important. She mentally prepares to flirt enough with this asshole that he takes her back to his hotel room. It’s just a simple recon mission, what could go wrong?

* * *

“What the fuck, Book?”

She kneels down next to Anatole’s unconscious form. He isn’t bleeding, but Booker knocked him out cold. She feels for a pulse. He’s alive, so Nile drops his wrist and stands, crossing her arms over her chest.

Booker’s expression is carefully blank. “I improvised.”

Nile can feel her blood pressure rising, “And why, exactly, did you feel the need to improvise?”

“This way is faster. We can get his key card and search the room on our own.”

“Okay, but I needed him awake so I could find out what he knows that won’t be on official documentation.”

Booker snorts. “Like this _connard_ knows anything.”

“Well now we’ll never know!” Nile explodes, throwing her hands up in the air. “I had a plan!”

“You had half a plan! We didn’t even know if it would work!”

“Oh, so you didn’t trust me to get my job done?”

“No!”

“No you didn’t trust me to get my job done?”

“I trusted you to get the job done, I just didn’t—”

“Really? Because it seems like you thought that you knew better, as usual!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means,” Nile takes a breath, trying to center herself. “It means that you have no right to act like a jealous child. Especially when you know how I feel about you and won’t do anything about it.” She kneels down and fishes Anatole’s key card out of his pocket. “You can handle clean up and explain to Andy why you decided to make things a thousand times more complicated for everyone. I’m finishing my mission.”

“Nile—” 

“Don’t, Booker.” She won’t look at him. She can picture the expression on his face, and it’s not something she cares to see. “I’ll get what I can from his room and meet you all back at the safe house.” She nudges Anatole with her foot. “I’ll send Nicky and Joe your way to help with him, if I can. Whatever you do, make it look convincing.” 

With that, she turns and walks out the door. 

* * *

“It’s alright intel on first scan. Copley will be able to work with it. We’ll move on the clinic in a few days, after we decrypt everything on that hard drive.” Andy tips a generous amount of wine into the glass in front of Nile. “Not too bad, kid.”

Quynh plucks another pin out of Nile’s hair, adding to the small mountain of hairpins on the kitchen table. “She doesn’t want to admit you’re her favorite, _em gai_.”

Andy snorts, pouring a few fingers of vodka into her own glass. “She’s already everyone else’s favorite. All the attention will spoil her.”

Nile leans into Quynh’s hands as they massage her scalp. She had been able to find a stash of both physical files and hard drives in Borde’s hotel room. It had only taken a few minutes to gather what she needed and clean up after herself. It was still a messy op, but it came without a body count, which was refreshing. Andy had even let her off without a full debriefing, and Quynh had shooed her off to change out of those “Parisian rags, honestly, who do they think they are impressing”. Once she was in some comfy sweats, Andy coaxed her downstairs for a drink. Normally, Nile hated being handled with kid gloves, but she’d make an exception tonight. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. 

Quynh pulls the last few pins from Nile’s hair and hands her her sleep scarf so she can wrap up her braids. The three women sit in a comfortable silence, enjoying their drinks and listening to the sounds of Parisian nightlife out in the street. 

“What did Booker do?”

Nile cracks an eye open, meeting Andy’s gaze. “Besides messing up my op?”

Andy hums. “We’ve all fucked up before—” 

“Some more than others,” Quynh chimes in, claiming the seat next to Andy and stealing a sip of her drink.

“—but you are usually the last one to let that upset you. He did something. So, I’ll ask again; what did he do?”

“He—” Nile hums, trying to put the thing that is upsetting her so much into words. “He let his emotions get in the way of the mission.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through Andy’s chest. “And that’s the first time that’s ever happened. Nicky’s never taken a bad hit for Joe when he really didn’t need to, and Joe’s never derailed an entire fucking op to recite some poetry he’s written about Nicky’s ass in his tac gear. Twice.” 

Nile tactfully doesn’t mention the amount of bullets Andy has taken for Quynh and vice versa. She sips her wine. “It’s a good ass.”

“Who has a good ass?” 

Joe and Nicky breeze through the front door, followed by a subdued Booker, rumpled, but unharmed.

“Nicky, apparently.” 

“Ah, yes.” Joe puts his hand over his heart. “An ass worth writing sonnets about. In fact—”

A chorus of groans fills the room. 

Joe grins. “No accounting for taste.”

Nicky puts his hand at the small of Joe’s back and whispers something in his ear, too low for Nile to hear. Judging by the look of pure glee that comes over Joe’s face, it’s undoubtedly filthy. 

Andy raises an eyebrow. “Go. We’ll debrief on the ride out in the morning. I don’t want to sit through round 6,000 of Joe-and-Nicky-try-to-make-it-through-a-mission-debrief-without-fucking-on-the-table.”

“It’s like you’ve never seen Nicky in a tuxedo before, boss.” He turns to the man in question “Upstairs?”

Nicky rolls his eyes affectionately. “ _Sì, hayati_.” The two men head out of the room.

Quynh shoots a quick look between Nile and Booker. “I believe it is time for us to rest as well.” She takes Andy’s hand and tugs her out of her chair and up towards their own room.

Booker stands just inside the doorway, jacket abandoned and shirt untucked. Nile studiously ignores him in favor of fidgeting with the glass in her hands. He clears his throat.

“Is there—I mean did you…?”

“I found what we needed. We’re going to move on the clinic within the week.”

Booker looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank god. Shit,” he scrubs a hand over his face, “Nile, I’m so sorry.”

“About what, Book?”

“I never should have, I mean, I didn’t mean to—” He lets out a frustrated huff. “I fucked up. And I almost ruined the mission. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

“…aaaaaaaaaand?”

“And I won’t do it again.”

“…aaaaaaaaaaaaand?

“And I will always trust your instincts and plans moving forward?”

“…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand?”

“And I was an ass? And I will be on dish washing duty for the next month? And I will make pancakes with chocolate chips in them in the morning?”

Nile takes pity on him and kicks the chair across from her out, gesturing for him to sit. He takes the olive branch for what it is and sinks heavily down into the chair, dropping the gear he is still holding on the floor. Nile drains the rest of her wine glass. “I’m going to make tea. Would you like some?”

“ _Oui, s'il vous plaît_.” 

She takes her glass to the sink, then flips the kettle on and starts rummaging through cabinets for tea bags. She finds a box of Nicky’s favorite chamomile blend and plunks the bags into twin mugs, letting him stew in silence while she waits for the kettle to whistle. Then, a thought occurs. “What did you do about Anatole?” 

“So he’s ‘Anatole’ now?”

She doesn’t take the bait. “Borde, then. What did you do to him?”

“We left him outside his father’s room with a bottle of champagne in one hand, reeking of piss and spilled liquor.” He smiled ruefully. “A position I am all too familiar with.”

She snorts. Booker smiles, then runs a hand over his eyes and back though his hair, letting out a long breath. The kettle’s boiling, so she finishes up their tea, carrying both their mugs over to the table. She sits down and looks him square in the eye. “You were jealous.”

He looks down at the table. “I did not mean for it to be this obvious.”

“But you were.” It isn’t a question.

Booker meets her gaze. “He was looking at you like you were something to be conquered.”

“I knew it would be that way going into it, Book.”

“ _Oui_ , but did he have to grab you so. And the pet names!” Booker rolls his eyes, “I do not think that man bothered to learn your cover name. ‘ _Ma chouchoute_ ’.” He makes the noise that Nile has privately labelled “the snort of French disgust”.

“It wasn’t the unethical experimentation and the exploitation of innocent people for you?”

“You’re absolutely right, I should have killed him instead. _Excusez-moi_.” Booker made to rise from his chair, but Nile stops him with a look. 

“What do we do now, Book?”

He sighs. “I will not burden you with all of this. I promise my—” he grimaces, “my feelings for you will not get in the way of a mission again.”

“Your feelings for—?” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Booker. What did you think I meant when I said that ‘you know how I feel about you’ back at the hotel?”

He slumps back in his chair. “That we are like family, and you do not feel the way I do? That we shall remain friends? That you will not return my affections? Please do not make me go on, _chérie_.” 

Nile feels like she’s going to burst a blood vessel. “That’s what you thought I meant!?”

His brow furrows, “What?”

“God save us from idiot Frenchmen.” She pushes her chair out and is around the table in two steps. She cups his face in her hands. “Booker. Ask me what I meant.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes. “Nile, I—" 

She strokes her thumb up over his cheekbone. “Ask me, please,” She murmurs, holding his gaze with her own.

“What did you mean?” he breathes.

“I’m in love with you.” He sucks in a breath, but she presses on. “I have been for a long time, and I think I will be forever. I want this. I want us.” She brushes a strand of hair back from his eyes. “I want all of you.” 

“Nile…” His hands go to her waist. “ _Ma belle._ ”

“And if you don’t kiss me right now I’m going to explode.”

She sees the moment he decides to let go. Then his lips are on hers.

He surges up out of the kitchen chair, never breaking their kiss. He wraps his arms tighter around her middle and nearly lifts her off the ground. She gasps and he licks his way into her mouth, his grip shifting so he can cradle her face. And it’s good. She presses closer, like she’s trying to crawl into his skin.

He suddenly breaks off and she’s left panting. He presses his forehead to her’s.

“J _e suis désolé, mon trésor. Je t'aime. Bien sûr que je t'aime._ Of course I love you. How could I not? You—” He cuts himself off with a laugh, “Nile, you’re everything. I love you.”

It’s like he’s a young man again, the centuries lifted from his shoulders, and she wants to memorize every plane of his face. She presses her lips to his temple, then his cheek. She presses her fingertips to his smile. She feels like dancing, like laughing, like screaming with joy. She settles for another “I love you” whispered into his hair.

He kisses her fingers, one by one, then the palm of her hand. 

“Sebastien.”

“Hm…?” He presses a kiss into her wrist, then glides his lips farther down her arm.

“Seb—” she cuts herself off with a gasp as his scruff rubs against the sensitive skin of her inner elbow.

She can feel his smile pressed into her skin. “ _Oui, m’dame?_ ”

She shivers. “If you keep doing that we’re going to end up fucking on the kitchen table.”

His head snaps up so fast that she’s afraid his neck will crack. A secret smile passes over his face, and suddenly, he bends and scoops her up in his arms. She shrieks with laughter while he makes a beeline for the stairs. 

“I can walk, you know,” she giggles against his collarbone. 

“You’re finally in my arms, do you think I’m ever letting go?” 

She kisses the space below his ear and starts working on the front of his button down. “Romantic.”

“Always.”

They burst into her room and Booker kicks the door shut behind them. He deposits her back onto her feet, and then his lips are on her’s. Kissing Booker is Nile’s new favorite thing to do. It’s like he wants to know every inch of her and she can’t get enough. 

She breaks the kiss to tug off her sweatshirt, leaving only a thin camisole behind. She loops her arms around his waist, hands slipping up and under his shirt and teasing the skin at the small of his back. When she bites at his bottom lip, he lets out a groan and drops his lips to her shoulder. 

“What?”

His cheeks are bright red and he mumbles something into the crook of her neck. Her hands leave his back and slip into his hair, tugging his face up until he is looking into her eyes.

“What is it, Book?”

“I am trying to be a gentleman here, _chérie_.”

This man. He’s standing there, shirt untucked and unbuttoned, hair sticking up in every direction, lips slick and red, eyes dark. He’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And she wants him in every conceivable way.

“Are you being a gentleman for your sake, or mine? Because we don’t have to do anything tonight.” She smooths down the front of him shirt with her palms. “But please don’t stop on my account. I want you. I want this.”

“ _Dieu merci_ ,” he breathes, and then his lips are back on hers. His strong hands glide up her back, and he cradles her to him like she’s something precious. 

She pushes his open shirt off his shoulders, then starts tugging on his undershirt.

“Why are you wearing so many layers?”

He laughs and lets his shirt fall to the floor, then quickly shucks off his undershirt. Nile takes a moment to appreciate the broad chest and shoulders in front of her. She drops a kiss onto his pec, then his throat, then up onto his jaw. He slides his hands under the waistband of her sweatpants, and she wastes no time kicking them off, her hands fiddling with his belt. 

He tears away, “ _Un moment, mon trésor_.” He bends down and scrambles to untie his shoes. Nile takes the opportunity to lay across the bed, propped up on her elbows so she can watch. She wolf whistles as he finally gets his shoes off and reaches for his belt. He looks up and she can hear his breath catch.

“C’mon Book. I’m getting old over here.”

He swallows, eyes travelling up and down her long legs. “You know, I think you’ll survive.”

Then his pants are gone and he’s left in nothing but tight boxer-briefs and she doesn’t even have the chance to properly savor the moment before he is all the way on top of her, tongue in her mouth, one hand bracing himself and the other resting on her waist, fingers creeping up underneath her camisole. She wraps a leg up and around his waist, slotting the other between his thighs. He groans, breaking their kiss to look down at her. 

“May I?” he asks, fingers toying with the edge of her tank.

She nods, and the offending garment is tossed across the room in his haste to get it off. 

He shifts her so her legs are on either side of his hips, and she rolls her hips underneath him, looking for a little relief. He obliges, grinding down against her as he reclaims her mouth. She hooks her ankles together behind his back and threads her fingers into his hair, working her hips in sync with his. His lips move to her neck, to her chest, and lower, licking and sucking his way down her body. He reaches the waistband of her underwear and pauses, looking up at her. 

If she didn’t already love this man for a thousand different reasons, she would love him for this. The way he touches her like she’s something precious, the way he checks in with her every step. The way his eyes light up when she nods her permission and he slides her underwear down her legs and off, kissing her ankle before setting her feet back down on the bed. He sits back on his heels, drinking in the sight of her. 

“Do I have something on my face?” she jokes, a little self conscious under the intensity of his gaze.

He ignores her small attempt at breaking the tension and brushes a hand down her cheek. “I have lived a dozen lifetimes and you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, _mon coeur_.”

Nile’s cheeks heat as she resists the urge to hide her face. Booker’s smile is soft as he presses a kiss into her knee, then another into her thigh. He repeats the action on the other side, chaste kisses setting her skin ablaze. She has to resist the urge to just grab his head and hold him between her legs.

“Booker—”

“ _Oui, m’dame_?”

“…Book.”

“Mhm,” he hums into the crease where her leg meets her torso. His tongue darts out to taste the sensitive skin there. It’s maddening.

“C’mon,” she tilts her hips up.

She feels his smile against her hip bone, then he presses a single kiss below her belly button. “Don’t they teach you about patience in the marines?”

“They also teach us torture resistance, which is really coming in handy now.”

With a laugh, he scoots himself backwards on the bed until he can slide his knees off and onto the floor. He hooks his long arms around her and drags her across the sheets until her legs are thrown over his shoulders. His smile is wicked as he breathes in the scent of her curls, then licks a stripe up her center.

A moan rips its way out of her throat and she shudders hard enough that she feels like she’s going to fly out of her skin. Booker’s eyes snap back up to her’s, a look of wonder crossing over his face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs, then slips his tongue between her folds. 

Nile forces herself to keep her eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment. She curls one hand into his hair, eliciting a throaty groan from Booker as he goes down on her. Her breath hitches in response; she’s going to remember that noise for the rest of her life.

“You like that, baby?”

He hums his assent, tongue curling deeper inside her. He brings one arm up so he can thumb at her clit, the other reaching to tangle his fingers with her’s. She happily takes his hand, squeezing it as their fingers lace together. 

“So, good, Book. So good for me.”

His cheeks flame red at the praise, and he redoubles his efforts, laving his tongue against her clit. He slides a finger inside her and crooks it until she sees stars. Heat is coiling low in her belly, and she fights to keep her hips still. 

“Seb, please—I’m going to—”

He slides a second finger inside her, fits his lips around her clit, and sucks. Her vision goes white. She thinks she’s probably yelling. She knows she bucked up into Booker’s face, but he doesn’t seem to mind, peppering her thighs with kisses as she comes down. Finally, she stops trembling, and he slips her legs off his shoulders.

She props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at the man between her knees, and smiles at the love-struck expression on his face. “Hi.”

He chuckles. “Bonjour.”

She pats the sheets invitingly, and he shoots to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and climbs onto the bed beside her. She pulls him close, slotting a thigh between his. “I love you”

His smile goes soft. “I love you too, _mon coeur_.”

Nile gives herself a moment to just love and be loved, playing with his hair as he hums happily. Booker curls closer to her and captures her lips in a kiss. She indulges in the slow slide of their mouths together for a while, rocking against him. Then, she slings a leg over his hips and rolls them over so she’s straddling him. “Can I ride you?”

He makes a sound like the air is being punched out of his lungs. 

Nile’s smile turns wicked. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She smacks a kiss on the center of his chest. “The pants. Lose ‘em.”

He hikes his hips up under her and strips off his underwear with military precision. Suddenly, there’s nothing between them but miles of smooth, bare skin. She reaches between them and jacks him once, twice, his cock already hard and ready for her. They both groan as she lines up and slides down onto him. 

His hands spasm on her hips. “Nile—fuck—I need you to—”

She slowly rolls her hips and he lets out a stream of completely unintelligible French. She smiles and braces her hands on his chest, rolling her hips once more. “Is this what you need?”

He chokes out an affirmation. His hands are flitting across her torso, not sure where to land. She takes pity on him and grabs his wrists, placing his hands on her hips. She leans down and places one more kiss on his lips, then starts slowly rocking herself up and down. 

His hands flex on her hips like he’s trying to keep himself from gripping her tighter. “Nile, _chérie_. Please.” 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you.” He groans, hips making little aborted half-thrusts upward. Nile smiles and picks up her pace. She lets her hands wander up and down his torso, pausing to scratch at his chest hair and flick at his nipples. “Hey, Book?” She leans over him, catching his mouth in a bruising kiss. He licks into her mouth, tongues touching and teeth clacking. “Fuck me.”

That’s all it takes. With a strangled cry, he grabs her hips and drives up into her. They find a rhythm immediately, meeting each other with every thrust. His hand slips to the apex of her thighs, clever fingers finding her clit with unerring accuracy. Throwing her head back, she comes hard for a second time, his name on her lips. He follows her over the edge, fingers pressing bruises into her hips as he clings to her. 

They collapse into the pillows, sated and sticky with sweat. After a few moments, Nile gently untangles their limbs. He grumbles and reaches for her. 

“ _Non_ —” 

She kisses his temple. “I’ll be right back. Just need to go clean up.”

She steals his button down of the floor and shrugs it on, doing a few buttons on the front before slipping down the hallway to the bathroom. She cleans herself up and grabs a damp washcloth for Booker, who is sitting up on his elbows when she returns. His eyes light up when he sees her in his shirt, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed when she draws near. She steps in between his knees and catches his jaw in her hands. 

“Hey. I love you.”

“And I, you, _mon bijou._ ” He kisses her palm, eyes sliding shut.

She smirks and climbs into his lap. “Not _‘ma chouchoute’_ "?

He groans and drops his head onto her shoulder. “This was a safe place. A happy place.”

“I’m just saying that you’re being a little bit hypocritical here, Seb.”

“Perhaps.” He gathers her in his arms before dramatically flopping backwards, taking her with him. “But I know something that he doesn’t.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes sparkle with mirth. “Your name, _chérie_.” He rolls them over into a more comfortable position and gently kisses her. “ _Ma belle. Mon coeur. Nile._ ” 

She nuzzles into the crook of his neck and he places one more sleepy kiss on her forehead. “Sleep, Book. You need to wake up early to make me my pancakes in the morning.”

She falls asleep to the rumble of laughter in his chest.

* * *

They stumble down the stairs in the morning to the rest of the team already gathered around the kitchen table. Nile belatedly realizes that she’s wearing nothing but underwear and Booker’s shirt from the night before, and Booker in wearing nothing but a pair of her oversize sweatpants. 

“Good morning.” Nicky grins at them over his cup of coffee. “Did you know that this house was built in 1863? Almost three centuries old. Very thin walls.”

Booker and Nile share a wide eyed look. Nile sucks in a breath, “Um—”

“Congratulations on getting your head out of your own ass, Book.” Andy pushes the carafe of coffee across the table toward them, a smile playing around her lips. “We’re wheels up in two hours.”

“What Andromache means,” Quynh cuts her wife a look across the table, “is that she’s happy that you found your way to each other. We all are.”

Joe crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “What I want to know,” he lets out a long breath through his nose, “is why you couldn’t hold out just two more months.” 

“…what.”

Nicky bursts out laughing, followed by Andy and Quynh.

“Do you have any idea how much money you cost me?” Joe gestures between the two of them. 

Booker catches on first. “How much was the pot worth?”

Andy grins. “The safe house in Cairo, among other things.”

Joe lets a out a small wail, burying his face in his hands. Nicky pats his back consolingly while Andy and Quynh snicker.

Booker rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Nile’s temple. “Pancakes?”

“Yes please.”

He wanders over to the pantry to find the ingredients he needs, and she sinks into her chair at the table. Andy begins discussing strategies for the Beira op, laying a holo-tablet with the compound layout down on the table. 

Quynh knocks her knee against Nile’s under the table. “Happy with your op, _em gai_?” she whispers, looking over at Booker at the stove.

He’s wearing a faded kitchen apron over his bare chest, and he already has a couple of floury smudges on his cheeks. She catches his eye, and the smile he sends her is blinding.

She nods, pressing her shoulder into Quynh’s. Maybe she could convince Booker on a Parisian vacation after their mission. In the meantime, she needs to practice her French.

**Author's Note:**

> Can I cram every single super specific head canon I have into one fic? Absolutely!
> 
> Thank you to the Book of Nile group over on tumblr for sharing my extremely specific Booker-lacing-Nile-into-a-corset thoughts and desires.
> 
> French Translations:  
> Mon petit oiseau - my little bird  
> Ma sirène - my siren  
> Ma trésor - my treasure  
> Merde! - Shit!  
> Je suis desole, monsieur! Laissez-moi vous aider, s’il vous plait. - I'm sorry sir! Please let me help you.  
> Espèce d'homme stupid! - You stupid man!  
> Laissez-moi vous emmener à l'arrière, je peux vous apporter une serviette. - Let me take you to the back, I can get you a towel.  
> Ma chouchoute - my pet or my darling  
> Un instant s’il vous plaît - One moment please  
> Ma chérie - my dear  
> Ma petit - my little one  
> Bonne nuit - good night  
> Excusez-moi- excuse me  
> Ma belle - my beauty  
> Je suis désolé, mon trésor. Je t'aime. Bien sûr que je t'aime. - I am sorry, my Treasure. I love you. Of course I love you.  
> Dieu merci - thank god  
> Mon coeur - my heart  
> non - no  
> mon bijou - my jewel
> 
> em gai - a Vietnamese endearment for a cute younger girl  
> hayati - "my life" in Arabic
> 
> I think that's all of them? Let me know if I missed anything or made a grievous mistake.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> TW: Anatole is shown tightly and possessively gripping women by the hands or waist on multiple occasions.


End file.
